At the After Work Event

standing in the back of the room
away from the buzz of networking
the chit chat and side glances
judging if I am worth talking to

here in theory
to meet people like me
but don’t see any
that are dreaming of poetry
and fire eating,
or worried about Nazis on the moon

spy a woman in black boots
and dream we elope
and leave this reception, this life
behind

sputter some more zombie work talk
drained glass, wet napkin in hand

leave as early as I can,
and savor the cold walk
alone

The Stalking Moon

 

the heavenly body of record
lest you forget
crushes petty complaint
beneath its rocky seas
and pulls the tides
to cool work-weary feet
 
the stalking moon
sees you home
knowing twinkle in the sky
 
it lets you know
in the worst of sorrow
that there is still
another tomorrow

Rogue Avenging Hockey Dad

 

Double-fisted hand holding
through dark Newark streets
for a women’s hockey game
 
strong girls
growing stronger
in the burgeoning stands
to be ice-cool
and sharp as blades
 
beyond the stadium horns
and the flash and lights,
crying from pure exhaustion
 
Dad’s pocket money depleted
evaporated like so much cotton candy
 
worth every blood-earned penny
to escape the cultural poison
and raise
warrior women

First Spring Day of Winter

flush-faced

in a winter coat

awkwardly cloaked

among the joyful strollers

ready for the rains,

the torrent streams

to build again

and make green

calendars and numbers

tell stale tales

while the sky

maps a better afternoon

dreaming in real time

of new, verdant days

ahead

Hell’s Kitchen Express

bring us West

where hard blossoms grow

where moss

knows how to map the bodies

in old brick

bring us West

where pink sky fire

chases us

down paving stone streets

where a chosen few

are wise enough

to seek their peace

bring us West

where outlaw ghosts

still prowl,

where dreamers still stoop

to pick up change

and share a bottle

with strangers

Walt Whitman’s Ghost on the Q34 Bus

He stalks our dark canyons

by firelight

casting star-shadows

on the rain-slicked streets

Rejoicing

at the church of life

at our chaotic march

led by endless, sacred dreams

He lets it all

flow around him,

such joy among the throngs

that fed him long ago

Packed to the gills,

steaming the windows

with breath

from every corner of Earth

so many mysteries, lives

intersecting in this beast

Walt Whitman,

your Holy Ghost

rolls on

even here,

an overcrowded bus

on the ass end of Queens

You dance on the fingers

of old maids, immigrant children

and harried drivers.

You keep us hopeful

when humanity fails us, again.

You are here,

in every strange swirl of humanity,

in every passing glance at forbidden fruit.

Your ghost sustains us, reminds us

that there is joy to be unearthed

like gemstone treasure,

even here.

Couch Song Armory

We have our own song

for when the whole family

fits on the couch

a glad song

carves memory

forges mental ammunition

and bulletproof souls

to last

in the savage lands

beyond our living room

so here

among our cluttered life

we run a musical boot camp

for the woman soldiers

of tomorrow

A Climbing Rock

A father’s job

is a climbing rock

to be that rough path

that winds to the top

to rule with love 

to tempt the fates

to put muscle on bones

and food on plates

hewn from

ancient tectonic madness

to guide through scrapes

and be a salve for sadness

unending

unbending and deep

to protect, defend

and lull to sleep

The Truth of First Light

the pull of sleep

loses its hold

when the dawn

first light offers

to burn off the cold

the sweet dew chill

little sought

but for the take

a just reward

for being awake

catching the sky

blue for the right eyes

to set our hopeful gaze

and have adventure

before the heated haze

like the hunter

who sacrificed the night

this is the moment

arrived with first light

How to Keep Time

like a starter pistol

shot up close

breakneck lessons

at the speed

of bumpy hayrides

pumpkin patch

rollicking

in fast-jostle motion

counted

with giggles

and stolen snapshots

one day at a time

up to bedtime

in joyous bedlam

reeling

pulling in memories

like a fighting ocean fish

gorging souls

in a cosmic fish fry

to the light

of fireflies

as children laugh

out in the dusky light

Mad Life Fever Check

Lone wolf squad of one

preying

in the slumber of the sun

raging daughters

with more fight than sleep

tiptoe through the darkness

in a mad poet’s creep

our night becomes morning

as we feed on the blue light

joyful

with the rest of the world

out of sight

right in our minds

with wild dreaming fever

our job

to drive mad

and be our dreams’ keepers

Covert Poets of the Cubicle Empire

Covert poets of the cubicle empire

hearts aglow with soulful wildfire

stealing seconds and minutes

to keep themselves sane

amid the mind-melting workday

that gets in the way.

Secret scribbles

and sketchers of dreams

ride the blue night

sewn up in memory’s seams

We mouth the right words

our uniforms stay

but our souls still sour

in the true poets’ way

Our secrets are kept

within some kind of trust

as most of the bosses

wish they were us

Dance of the Frozen Devils

the good marrow

can be ice and snow

as we clutch hands

and brace

against the windy cold

the warmth inside

feels better

with a thawing face

only after such blustery violence

do we find our place

drinking it all in deeply

the close comfort

leaves us sleepy

but we spark again

alive at the freezing source

to dance with fellow devils

joyous

as life runs its course

War Letter from a Long Summer

the hard heat

adds to the thrill

of being alive

stalking scorched streets

with cold-minded eyes

hardened

in the kiln

of too many voices

being that exception,

that warrior poet

standing alone,

is enough

to make us smile

in the blaze

of the hateful sun

Invisible Flame of Misfit Workers

sublime

if we can creep

past the wear-down

rage

past thoughts

too hateful

to darken a page

past misery heedless

near needless

for pay

past the clock-worn

routines

we repeat every day

somewhere

some spark

flints away

in the dark

with plans

nearly hatched

for some progress

to mark

this waking dream

of guiding flame

powers us through

a poisoned mind frame

it is our own darkness

ourselves

that we fight

in the hellfire struggle

to create

our own light

Nightlight Over Long Beach Island

our devices

glow like fireflies

and the night sky

pays no mind

it steers the ocean

to pound these shores

not knowing we’re alive

there is no magic formula

waiting to be revealed

no untapped powers

to absorb

only beauty

to let all heal

the secret

is to enjoy this sight,

to let this glory

be your light

so stop searching

for your soul to feed

this truth through beauty

is all you need

Time-ripe Ninja Commuter Disguise

the time-ripe ninja

stealth assassin

sent to dispatch

legions of false faces

makes her way

through the metropolis

shrouded in the skin

of the slouched commuter

on the train

cold

to the homeless man

seeking alms in vain

all the while

in stolen moments

scribbling the puzzle pieces

to let loose

the hounds of greatness

they march triumphant

clenched jaws trailing blood

into immortality

Chicken Bucket Brigade

this rowdy assemblage

like bleacher creatures of old

serves to warm our hearts

out in the rain and cold

the chants, the jokes,

the joy of being here

our tribes trump cheap talk

fueled by beer

our colors are proud

and we know where we stand

singing our songs loud

across the fractured land

the chicken bucket

is a fairly good deal

amid this bogus playground

our spirits stay real

For the Werewolves

I sweat each day

To earn my hide

To burn off this shell

And reveal the wolf inside

By work and desire

Embrace trial by fire

And make ourselves worthy

Of the life of blood and iron

Grit City Sunset

still at heart

this is a gritty city

sweated out

on packed

train cars

where our petty travails

are mocked

by pastel majesty

of sunset

the red-pink

skyblood of pride

slashed across the westward sky,

a reward

for myriad dreamers

cobbling new lives

one hard day at a time,

ready to bare

their threadbare souls

to strangers